The Art of the Possible
by Alixtii
Summary: Futurefic. After the November election, Sen. Veronica Mars I-CA returns home and runs into Mr. and Mrs. Echolls. LoganxVeronica, LoganxHannah.


Cindy Mackenzie, Chief of Staff to Senator Veronica Mars (I-CA), watched the numbers count backwards on the microwave. The package always said one was supposed to count the seconds in between pops, but she had never actually known anyone to do that, nor had she ever done it herself.

The microwave beeped; she took the bag out of the microwave; she poured the popcorn into the bowl, then brought the bowl of popcorn into the living room of the Senator's apartment. "I miss anything yet?"

Veronica shook her head as Mac sat down next to her with the popcorn, then took a handful of popcorn. "They've declared Vermont for our guy," she said after she was done munching. "With 2% of the precincts reporting." She paused. "You're sure we're not going to be wanted?"

Both campaigns had pushed Veronica hard for her endorsement, and at last in the last two months before the election she had hit the road campaigning hard for their favored candidate. This was really the first rest the two of them had gotten since Veronica had announced the endorsement, and Mac had to agree it seemed a little strange.

"I'm sure," she reassured Veronica. "Tonight all the attention's on the candidates. Oh, they'll ask us for a statement tomorrow, but nobody's really going to care what we say."

Veronica nodded, munched some more popcorn and watched the anchor interview some pundit.

. . .

It was good to be in California again, Veronica thought as she and Mac got off the plane. Even before her endorsement of the now-President-elect, California had never been exactly a contested state, and so Veronica had hardly visited her home state. Now that the election was over, it would be good to spend some time with her constituents before returning to Washington for the lame-duck session.

Veronica's father and Lauren Sinclair were waiting for them at the airport.

"Hey, dad," she said to her father, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Mac and Lauren hugged. The four of them made their way out into the airport and into the electric SUV Veronica had bought in California and let her father use when she was out of state.

It felt good to be behind the wheel again. In Washington it was rare she ever got to drive herself anywhere. On the campaign trail it was even rarer. As she pulled onto the 5, she put down the windows and felt the wind blow in her face. (Sometimes she missed the LeBaron she had had in high school.) Here, far away from the headaches of Washington politicking and the U.S. Senate, surrounded by family and friends, she was free.

. . .

No trip to California could be completely politics-free, of course. After all, she would be trying to be re-elected in four years time. And there were worthy causes to support, movements to crusade for, in the here and now.

Which is how she and Mac ended up at the fundraising dinner for she wasn't even sure what. Mac had classed it as a worthy cause in line with the principles of her platform. The place was filled with the hoi polloi of California--a state which wasn't exactly lacking in that category. Her counterpart was there, of course--and since his re-election was only two years away she could see him busily working the room. He was a party hack and could be safely ignored.

"Don't forget to talk to Arnold," Mac said, suddenly materializing on Veronica's left and unashamedly talking with food--some hors d'oeuvre or other--in her mouth.

"I won't forget to talk to Arnold," Veronica promised. She wasn't sure how she _could_ forget to talk to the former governor and senator. She had gone to dress for the party and found her dress covered in TALK TO ARNOLD post-it notes. Okay, Mac considered the potential alliance to be crucial. Veronica got the point.

Veronica looked around to find the distinctive Austrian--it wasn't as if Arnold was easy to miss. She made her way through the crowd, looking for him.

When she managed, in classic Veronica fashion, to trip over her own feet. Sometimes she wondered how she had ever managed to be elected to high office--then she just remembered that that had probably been an accident just as much as this.

She disentangled herself from the woman she had brought down with her. "Sorry about that," she apologized.

The woman accepted help in getting back n her feet--her dress was tight enough she ma well have been not able to do it on her own. It was an elegant silver gown in ballroom fashion, leaving shoulders and back are, and the woman, just a few years younger than Veronica maybe, wore it well.

"No problem, Senator," the woman said, smoothing out the dress, and was on her way.

Veronica blinked. There had been something familiar about the woman, although she couldn't say just what. As a politician, she had met so many people it was hard to keep track of them. That was what she had Mac for; Mac kept a database.

Veronica finally found Arnold and managed to engage him in a discussion of the President-elect's proposed immigration plan. They were deep in conversation when he suddenly interrupted her with an "Excuse me, Senator," and called out to a passerby, "Mrs. Echolls, did you have a nice trip?"

The passerby was the younger woman Veronica had barged into before. Veronica frowned. Could it be? They were in California; it was certainly possible.

She examined the attractive woman again, trying to place her. She was certain she wasn't someone with whom Veronica had been involved as part of her political career. A client of Mars Investigations, then? No, that wasn't it. She went further back in her search through her memory. Hearst? No. Neptune High?

Things fell into place and Veronica suddenly had to call onto her best poker face. (Some things were just as useful for a politician as for a P.I. Surprisingly many, in fact.) "Hannah," she said, keeping her voice as friendly as possible. "I almost didn't recognize you."

Hannah Echolls, née Griffith, smiled back. "Well, it's been a long time, Senator. I'm surprised you remember me at all."

Veronica might not have recognized Hannah, but she certainly hadn't forgotten the girl. She had played the Calista to Logan's Lothario when they had all been in high school, during one of Veronica and Logan's off periods, and he had been executing a crusade against Hannah's father. She had been sent away to boarding school to keep her away from Logan, and he and Veronica had eventually gotten back together (they always did in those days), but apparently they had gotten back in touch in the intervening years.

And had, you know, gotten married.

Veronica tried to remember to appear gracious as she said, "Of course I remember you, Hannah. How are you?"

Hannah looked Veronica over with just a bit of uncertainty before answering. "I'm good," she said. "Logan and I just got back from a month in Brazil."

Which explained the perfect tan. Veronica forced herself to smile.

It was then that Logan himself. "Hannah, I was thinking that--" he began, before he saw Veronica. Then he broke off, looking almost guilty, and there were a couple of seconds of silent eye contact before he said, "Hello, Veronica."

Well, at least he didn't call her "Senator."

. . .

He didn't look like his father, thank God. She didn't think she could manage that, flashbacking to those horrible memories. It was bad enough that he looked like himself, drawing to the surface a whole different set of memories.

Like himself, yes, but twenty years older, a man instead of a boy. He was, well, more mature; his hair was tinged by grey; wiser eyes looked out from a slightly wrinkled face; she could swear he stood taller.

It had been twenty years since she had seen him last; she would have thought the intervening decades would have cured her of some of the silliness of her response. She never had been able to think straight in his presence, in some of her darker moments she had even reflected that that might have been the only reason her relationship with Logan had managed to last as long as it had.

But no--her heart was pounding now just as hard as it ever had when she was a foolish eighteen. Whatever spark she had responded to then Logan clearly still possessed now; when he offered his hand and she took it the mere touch of skin was electric.

She managed to blunder her way through the exchanged pleasantries, her mind reeling the whole time, and to her not-at-all amused chagrin found herself accepting an invitation to have dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Echolls at their house.

In a daze, she found her way back to her seat at the table. "Did you know Logan was married?" she asked Mac once she had regained the power of speech.

The frowning hesitation on Mac's face told Veronica all that she needed to know. "How long?"

Mac sighed, leaned back in her chair. "Fifteen years," she admitted.

"Kids?"

"Three. Two girls and a boy."

"And how do you know all of this when I know nothing?"

Mac didn't say anything, nor did she quite meet Veronica's gaze.

. . .

Veronica was busily trying to convince herself that the night before's events had just all been a bad dream when there was a knock on her door. "Yeah?" she called out.

"Your chief of staff is here, honey," Keith Mars' too-cheerful voice called out. "And breakfast is ready."

Veronica reluctantly rolled out of bed and left her bedroom, coming to the breakfast table still in her pyjamas. Mac sat across the table, immaculately groomed and dressed in a grey powersuit. Keith split the difference in his jeans and t-shirt.

"Another pancake, Mac?" he asked as Veronica sat down at the table. She smiled and eagerly held out her plate, into which Keith deposited a large pancake. "How about you, Veronica?"

Veronica shook her head. "I don't think I can eat."

Keith looked to Mac, puzzled. "She ran into Logan last night," Mac explained.

Keith Mars had spent many years learning to mask his responses. Veronica had spent many of the same years learning to read his masks, however, and noticed quite well the fractional widening of his eyes.

"How did that go?"

Mac shrugged. "We're having dinner at their house tonight, apparently."

"Oh," said Keith. "That's . . . nice." The silence spoke volumes.

It was followed by a moment of more silence, silence from which Veronica was at last saved by the beeping of Mac's phone. She excused herself and slipped into the next room to take the call.

"Maybe I will have a pancake after all," she said, trying to find something to say which didn't involve Logan.

Keith nodded and dripped a spoonful of batter into the frying pan. "So, did you see Arnold last night?" he asked.

Mac re-entered the room. "The President-elect is on the line," she announced solemnly. "He wants to talk to you."

Veronica looked up in alarm. "Me?"

"I don't think he wants to talk to me, honey," Keith pointed out gently.

Veronica glanced down at her pyjamas. "I can't talk to him like this," she said. "I look like a mess."

Neither Mac nor Keith contradicted her.

"The President-elect is on the line," Mac repeated, her expression not changing. "He wants to talk to you."

Knowing quite well she had no choice in the matter, and missing the days when phones only carried sound, she sighed. "Very well."

Mac pushed a button and transferred the line to the kitchen phone, the pedestrian face of one of the President-elect's aides filling the screen. He glanced at Veronica, did a double-take, then regained his composure. "One moment, ma'am," he said, then was replaced by a blue-background and the insignia of the President-elect. A moment later, this was replaced by the President-elect's regal features. He blinked. "I'm sorry, Senator," he said. "Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"No, I'm fine," Veronica reassured him, lying through her teeth. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I just wanted to call and thank you for your support once again, Veronica, and to ask you to join me in my administration."

Veronica glanced at Mac out of the corner of her eye, but Mac just shrugged. "That's very flattering, sir."

"I was thinking of something along the lines of Secretary of the Interior."

Veronica dropped her fork. "With all due respect, sir, I'm just a freshman senator."

He smiled that broad smile which had served him so well in the debates. "You're someone who's respected across the nation--and more importantly, across the aisle. If it weren't for your endorsement, Veronica, our current president would in all likelihood be preparing for his second term right now."

Certainly her influence hadn't been _that_ great. She glanced at Mac, but her friend just shrugged as if unable to disagree with the President-elect's assessment. "I'm glad I can return the favor," he continued, "although that's not why I'm doing this. I honestly cannot think of a better person for the job. Your country needs you, Senator."

Veronica gulped. "I'm honored, of course, sir. This is very . . . unexpected. I'm going to have to think this over."

The President-elected gave a quick nod. "OF course. Whatever you decide, I look forward to working with you in the years to come." The screen went blank.

Veronica took a deep breath. then turned to Mac. "If you ever let me eat breakfast without brushing my hair first ever again, you are so totally fired."

Mac just ginned. "Interior Secretary. Oh em gee. I did not see that coming."

"Congratulations are in order, then?" Keith asked as he dropped the finished pancake onto Veronica's plate.

"Absolutely," answered Mac. "Your daughter's going to be 8th in the line of succession."

Veronica just stared at her. Mac shrugged. "Hey, Laura Roslin was 43rd."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Laura Roslin lived on a faraway planet attacked by robots. In a TV show that aired _two decades ago_. You're showing your age, Mac."

"And this all depends on whether she takes it," Keith pointed out, but he had the twinkle in his eye which said that he already had his suspicions how he thought it would pan out. She just wished she was so sure. "She told him she would think about it."

"I don't know," said Veronica. "It's just a big change. I feel like I ought to think about it first."

"Sound wise to me," said Keith. "Mac?"

"I say definitely go for it," she answered. "If you run for President, they're going to want to know about executive experience. This gives you credibility."

Keith beamed. "My daughter, Madame President."

"Who said anything about President?" Veronica asked, attacking her pancake. She frowned. "Besides, I have to live through tonight first."

. . .

"Interior Secretary?" Lauren said when she came over that afternoon. "Wow, that's huge. Congratulations."

Veronica nodded absently as she rummaged through her closet, trying to decide what to wear to Logan's that night.

"Are you going to take it?"

Veronica just kept on looking, and eventually Mac stepped in with, "She hasn't decided yet."

"Oh."

"Yeah," confirmed Veronica, holding a mauve skirtsuit up against her body and looking at herself in the mirror. She made a face and returned it to the closet. All her _good_ outfits were in Washington.

Mac's phone went off again, as it was wont to do, and she slipped into the hall. "That could be the Prince of Wales with a marriage proposal and my day still wouldn't be getting any weirder." She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. "Although at least my hair's okay now." She frowned. "I think."

"It's fine," Lauren quickly reassured her as Veronica held yet another outfit against her body

"Aarrrgggghhhhh," Veronica groaned and collapsed backwards onto her bed, hanger still in her hand. "My life is insane, and I have nothing to wear."

Lauren glanced doubtfully at Veronica's full closet, then sat down on the bed next to Veronica. "You're really stressing out about this dinner," she observed.

"Veronica just groaned again. "Yeah," she agreed. "What do you expect me to do? I haven't seen the guy in, like, twenty years. Then he just randomly shows up in my life again, and the freshman he sort of dated when we were off is his _wife_, and I'm going over there for dinner."

Lauren was silent for a moment. "Did you love him?"

A third groan emanated from Veronica's prone figure. "Oh, yeah," she said. "We drove each other insane, and really brought out the worst in each other, but it was love. Mad, insane, reason-destroying love."

"So what happened?"

Veronica frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You said it was off and on a lot with you, that he dated his future wife in one of the off moments. So what made you guys end it once and for all?"

Veronica didn't answer at first. "He slept with your sister."

"With Mac?" Lauren asked, puzzled, glancing out into the hall at the older brunette who was still engaged in conversation with her phone. "But. . . ." Then realization seemed to dawn. "Oh. Madison." The name almost seemed to echo in the silence of the bedroom.

"Yeah."

Lauren frowned, knowing she was on unsafe ground. "Mad's really not that bad when you get to know her," she hazarded. "I mean, she's not the brightest or most compassionate bulb in the picnic basket, but--"

"It's complicated," Veronica broke in, preventing Lauren from mixing any more metaphors. How to explain to Lauren exactly what Madison represented to Veronica? She hadn't raped her; that had been Cassidy. Nor did she even put GHB in the cup; that was Dick. "She spit in my glass"? There really was no way to make Lauren understand. Nor did she necessarily want to poison the woman against her sister.

And after twenty years later. . . .

"She voted for you."

Veronica sat up. "Really?"

Lauren nodded. "She and Mark had a 'Vote Mars' sign in their yard the entire election season. And she was going to vote Republican this year until you endorsed Stover.

"Really." That was one constituent she had never expected to win over.

"Really," confirmed Lauren. "People can surprise you sometimes."

Veronica just fell backwards onto her bed. "Yeah, like Logan apparently's surprised me by marrying Hannah Griffith. Never saw that one coming."

Lauren frowned, then got up and crossed the room to the closet. "If I were seeing my ex after twenty years," she said, "and I had your legs, I would wear this."

. . .

Mac glanced at her watch as she made her way back up to the Mars' apartment. Almost five-thirty.

She had spent the afternoon at her brother Ryan's. It was nice to see him again, and the kids had been thrilled to see their Aunt Cindy. She shook her head. The oldest, Lorelei, was almost ten. Where had the time gone?

Both Ryan and his wife Beth had chided her for working too hard and hinted (subtly for them, which was not very) that maybe it was time for her to find someone to settle down with and start a family of her own. (Not that kids were really on the radar screen at this point; she was _forty_ after all. Then again, it's not like a man was on the radar screen either.) Maybe it was the Mackenzie blood: both Ryan and Madison had been married for years now, while she and Lauren were both still single, if not necessarily for lack of trying.

But it was true that her job took pretty much all of her time now; for the time-being Veronica was her life, and to be honest she was perfectly happy with it being that way.

She could vaguely remember the time in her life before Veronica, back when Veronica had been an honorary 09er and Mac was just a smart 02er watching the popular girls--Veronica and Madison and Lilly Kane and Meg Manning and so on--from afar with more than a little envy. But then Mac had put her purity test on the internet, and both girls' lives had been changed forever. And not just their lives, either, because if it weren't for the team of Mac and Veronica a Republican president would in all likelihood be about to go into his second term.

These high school reminiscences seemed appropriate to Mac; they were, after all, about to have dinner with Logan and Hannah. She knocked on the door of the apartment; Keith answered it quickly. "She's still getting ready," he explained as Mac entered. "She should be done soon."

"I'm done now," Veronica's voice responded as she walked down the hall from her bedroom. She was dressed in a classic sleek black dress--always appropriate, always stylish, always sexy. In it Veronica was undeniably drop-dead gorgeous; she might be in her forties, but she was still smoking hot when she turned on the sex appeal.

And tonight, Veronica had certainly turned on the sex appeal.

"Wow," said Mac, at loss for words beyond that. Even Keith had his eyebrows raised.

"Let's go," said Veronica, quickly giving Keith a kiss as she made her way to the door. "We wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

. . .

_Deep breaths_, Veronica reminded herself as she and Mac walked up the walk of what apparently was Logan's house now. It was smaller than she had expected, and, being conservative rather than ostentatious, it was a far cry from the penthouse apartment she remembered so--ahem--vividly.

_Deep breaths_. It was just dinner, after all. She had managed to get through dinner the night before with them. Of course, it had helped that there had been six hundred other people there as well to act as a distraction. Tonight, it would just be Hannah, Logan, Veronica, and Mac. Well, at least Mac would be there; she wouldn't have to go through it alone.

Veronica glanced over at her friend. Mac seemed to be more concerned with watching Veronica out of the corner of her eye than anything else, showing no signs of experiencing any of the tension Veronica felt. And why should she? Logan was just an old acquaintance to Mac, her best friend's ex-boyfriend from college. She had never been in love with him. And Veronica wasn't sure that Mac had ever even _met_ Hannah.

Hannah met them at the door. "Come in," she said, smiling, leading them into a parlor of sorts. "Logan's running a little late, but please sit down, make yourselves at home." Hannah's warmth seemed genuine enough; she was treating Veronica as an old friend, not a rival. For some reason, this bothered Veronica more than if Hannah had been downright catty.

"Could I get you something to drink, Senator? Ms. Mackenzie?"

""Hannah," said Veronica, "please. We went to high school together. Call me Veronica." After all, there was no way in hell Veronica was going to call her "Mrs. Echolls."

"And I'm Mac," Mac added helpfully. "And I wouldn't mind a scotch and soda."

Hannah nodded. "Anything for you, Veronica?"

"White wine?"

Hannah left to get the drinks, leaving Veronica and Mac alone in the parlor. "Nice house," Mac commented. "Homey. Lived in."

Veronica nodded, unable to disagree. On the wall were three framed photographs, presumably of the Echolls children. The eldest was a blonde girl of about fourteen, who was well on the way to becoming a bombshell and, from the mischievous gleam in her eye, seemed to know it; Veronica couldn't help but think of Lilly Kane. The boy, about eleven, wore glasses and seemed overall far too bookish to possibly be Logan's son. The youngest was a girl of about five or six who had fiery red hair and who was just about the most adorable thing Veronica had ever seen.

They were the fucking Cleavers for the 2020's. How did the adventurous Logan, who inevitably took everything to extremes, end up living a life that reeked so strongly of middle-class suburbia? He still had the money--their presence at the fundraiser the night before made that clear, not to mention the trip to Brazil--but somehow he _chose_ to live like this. Somehow she couldn't imagine the patriarch of this loving family making weekend trips to Tijuana.

How had Hannah accomplished it? And why was Veronica so sure that even if her relationship with Logan had lasted, she would never have been able to?

At that moment, Logan himself entered, dressed in a dark blue suit. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized.

"No prob," answered Mac. "We just got here."

Hannah entered with the drinks. She gave everyone their beverage of choice, then gave a quick kiss to her husband. "Sit down," she urged him, then quickly followed her own advice.

Logan complied. "So is Veronica working you hard, Mac?"

Mac graced him with a smile. "It's a labor of love," she answered.

Logan smiled knowingly and took a sip from the whiskey. "And how about you, Veronica? You must be feeling pleased with yourself that Stover's elected."

Veronica nodded, took a sip of her wine. Should she tell him? She really didn't think she would have to worry about him leaking it to reporters. "He's asked me to serve as his Secretary of the Interior."

"Makes sense," said Logan, as if what she had just told him were the most predictable thing in the world. "He's afraid you'll run against him in four years. This way he keeps you close to him, nice and safe."

Veronica frowned. Why did everybody keep mentioning running for President? "I can't run for President. I'm an Independent."

"That's what they said when you ran for Senate," pointed out Hannah.

"And there's not a strategist alive who understands the netroots better than Mac," continued Logan.

"Besides," said Veronica. "He didn't have to make me Interior Secretary to keep me safe. There's a dozen places he could have put me."

Logan shrugged. "He knows you'll do a good job."

. . .

Somehow, at some point, Veronica managed to relax. Not that the evening ever stopped being anything but utterly surreal, but as the night went on the tension managed to work itself out of her back and shoulders. The wine probably didn't hurt in that regard.

Dinner was a stuffed chicken breast in a lemon sauce that was utterly divine. Hannah didn't cook it; apparently the Echolls household _did_ have servants, if not so many or as ubiquitous as often found in the 02er households of their youth. Not the Cleavers, then--closer to the Bradys, or maybe the Adamses.

Conversation at dinner was amiable but subdued. Veronica re-articulated the President-elect's proposed agenda, something she could do pretty much in her sleep at this point. Mac stepped in every once and a while with a colorful anecdote to lighten the mood. Logan and Hannah pretty much kept to just asking questions.

"But what about you two?" she finally found herself asking, even though she was fairly certain she didn't want to know the answer. "I'm assuming those were your kids whose pictures were hanging in the parlor. They're adorable." IF there was anything she had learned from politics, it was parents loved to be complimented on their children. Well, usually.

True to form, Hannah beamed. "We're pretty sure Lilly is going to be asked to prom this year. We're still not sure what to do about it; she's still so young."

So Logan had named his Lilly-like daughter Lilly. Somehow, Veronica was not surprised. For the ten millionth time, Veronica wondered how Duncan's daughter Lilly was doing. She'd be in her twenties by now.

"Sometimes you just have to let kids do their own thing," Logan said, but he was looking right at Veronica and somehow she felt he wasn't really talking to his wife. "Sometimes it's madness to even try to control them."

"Maybe," allowed Hannah, apparently unaware of the undercurrent. "I didn't have the wild and free childhood you guys did."

Veronica remembered.

. . .

After dinner, they retired back to the parlor. Hannah didn't sit, however, but just stood silent for a minute, then said to Mac, "I don't mean to impose, but our phone system keeps crashing, and Logan's told me so many stories about how you're a whiz with computers."

"I'll be glad to take a look at it," Mac answered obligingly, and followed Hannah out of the room, leaving Logan and Veronica alone together.

"Well," that's . . . strange," observed Veronica, looking at Logan suspiciously. He just held his hands in his _What do you want me to say?_ pose--one she remembered well.

"Do you want to take a walk?" he asked at last.

No, not really--she was wearing heels. But she followed him out of the house anyway, and once she was outside she changed her mind. It was beautiful out--November nights were cool, not cold, in Southern California, and the cool air this particular night caressed Veronica's exposed skin like a kiss.

"Hannah really respects you," Logan said slowly as they walked down the block. "She remembers you from high school, and she looked up to you back then."

"And . . . ?" Veronica prompted, not sure where he was going.

"And she thought we needed some time alone."

Veronica stopped, slipped off her shoes, then started walking again while carrying them, the concrete of the sidewalk rough under her bare feet. "I don't see why," she answered. "You have a great family, and I'm happy for you. My political career is going places I never thought possible, and you're happy for me. What else is there?"

Logan didn't answer at first, and the two of them walked in silence. "It's hard seeing you again," he said at last.

"Tell me about it."

"I didn't think it would be so hard," he said. "I mean, I see you in the newspapers, on the news, on C-SPAN; all the time. But . . . it's not the same."

"Wait, you watch me on C-SPAN?" Next time she gave a speech in the Senate chambers she would have to wonder whether Logan was watching her. Suddenly, the Cabinet job was looking a lot better.

"Hannah usually puts it on," Logan answered idly, not looking at her. Veronica couldn't help but feel, with her P.I.'s instincts, that there was more going on then she understood. She just didn't know what, and she wanted to.

"Logan," she said firmly, feeling for the life of her like she was twenty again and quizzing him on where he had been the night before. "What is going on?"

He kissed her.

. . .

The body remembers.

Sensations and associations, reactions and instincts, all of these are retained even when the conscious mind has long forgotten them. Specifically, Veronica's body remembered what it was like to be kissed by Logan, and what to do in response. Without needing to think she opened her mouth, arched her back, dropped her shoes, wrapped her arms around her former lover, and pulled herself up onto tiptoe. The moment, so familiar, wrapped itself around her and kept her safe: safe from reason, from reality, from the pain of two decades spent apart, spent alone.

The kiss was long and deep. Veronica held on tight to Logan, not wanting to break the kiss, not wanting to return to a world where Logan was married and Veronica was alone, not wanting the moment to end.

But if a life could be made out of such moments as this one, Veronica and Logan would always had been together. It was Veronica who could not live that way, who could not turn her back on a cold truth in order to embrace a pleasant lie. Like the baker's wife in the Sondheim musical, she always had to find her way out of the woods, driven by her need to know, to understand, to apprehend reality in its cold nakedness. She pulled away.

"What about Hannah?" she asked.

He reached out, bringing his hand to her face, running his fingers through her hair, sliding his thumb down her cheek. "When do you return to Washington?" he asked, not answering her question.

"Thursday," she answered. "In the afternoon."

He nodded. "And then you won't even need to come back to campaign."

"_If_ I take the job," she reminded him. "You will," he answered, brushing off her indecision. "You're ambitious." He paused, put a hand on her shoulder, bare except for the thin strap of the dress, sending a thrill down her spine. "So let's let us have this much." He leaned in to kiss her again, and this time she met him halfway. Once again, sense memories took over.

Logan was the one to break the kiss this time, taking her hand. "Come," he said, leading her across the street to a dark lot, out of the range of the street lights and the house windows and the one house on the block which already had its Christmas lights up.

It was a children's playground, she realized as they got closer, just able to read the "CLOSED DUSK TO DAWN" sign using reflected light. Logan led her farther into the center of the park and soon they were wrapped in a mantle of darkness, able to see the bright lights of the world around them but unable to be seen by that world. They were just Logan and Veronica, outside civilization, alone in their own world and by their own rules.

Logan helped Veronica out of her dress, the two now moving with a desperate but deliberate speed. Veronica fumbled in the dark as she unbuckled Logan's belt and unzipped his pants. Soon Logan had placed her on a child's swing and pushed it back so that she was hanging in the air at just the right for him to enter into her.

If she had not forgotten what it was like, then neither had he. He remembered what she liked, where and how she liked to be touched. In the dark, she could almost believe they were twenty again, their bodies young and limber, making love and trusting it was forever.

. . .

They walked back to the house in silence, Veronica carrying her shoes. She stopped at the walk to put them back on, then followed Logan into the house.

Mac and Hannah were seated in the parlor when they got back. Mac was telling one of the thousands of embarrassing anecdotes she had on Veronica.

"Oh, there you two are," Hannah said, getting up to re-greet Veronica. "Did you have a nice walk?" She was smiling, and if she was jealous or suspicious she didn't show it.

Mac shot her a "Where the hell _were_ you?" look.

"Very pleasant," Veronica answered truthfully. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

"Not at all," answered Hannah, pointing Veronica down the correct hallway. It's the third door on the left.

Veronica entered the bathroom, then checked her hair and dress, making sure she didn't look too disheveled. She turned the water on in the sink and splashed some on her face.

"Well, Veronica, I hate to admit it," a voice spoke from behind her. "I didn't think you had it in you."

Veronica looked up. Sure enough, in the mirror's reflection she could see, standing behind her, her fears confirmed. "Lilly, this is not a good time." She fumbled through her purse but she had left her medication at the apartment. After all, it had been over a year since the last time she had seen Lilly.

"Making love to a married man," Lilly said, walking around Veronica so she could be seen without using the mirror. "And outside, no less." She looked impressed.

Lilly was dressed in her Homecoming gown--a small mercy, as it meant she wasn't sporting the fatal head wound Aaron Echolls had given her.

"Look," Veronica tried again, although she knew full well in all likelihood any attempt to reason with the apparition would be futile. "I really need--"

"You really needed to be fucked until Logan went ahead and took care of it," Lilly continued. She hopped up and sat at on the bathroom counter, her legs dangling.

Veronica sighed and tried to ignore Lilly--as losing a proposition now as it had been when Lilly had been alive--and focused on re-applying her makeup.

"Just face it," said Lilly. "You haven't felt this alive since the _last_ time you and Logan had sex."

Veronica just put her lipstick tube back in her purse and made her way out of the bathroom. "Not all of us can be sixteen forever."

In the hall, one of the doors which had previously been closed was now open, and a redheaded girl in light blue pyjamas stood within it. "Who were you talking to?" she asked, staring puzzledly at the bathroom.

"Nobody," answered Veronica, hoping irrationally that Lilly would be able to hear her. "Nobody at all."

This didn't seem to quite satisfy the girl. "Who are you?" she asked.

Veronica sunk down to her knees so she was on level with the girl. "I'm Veronica," she answered.

The girl's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "_I'm_ Veronica," she said accusingly.

Veronica swallowed. "Then I'm Veronica too."

The red-haired Veronica studied the older one intently. "You're the lady from the TV."

Definitely too much C-SPAN in the Echolls household. "That's me."

"Mommy and Daddy say you're going to be President."

"Maybe someday," Veronica answered. "I hope so." It was the first time she admitted it even to herself. She just hoped Lilly Kane never showed up while her finger was on the nuclear button.

"I want to be President when I grow up, too," little Veronica said.

. . .

Veronica returned from the bathroom, Mac noticed, in much less physical disarray but looking even more psychologically discomfited, if that were possible. The four chatted a little bit longer, but eventually Mac and Veronica made their way out the door.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Mac expected Veronica to glare at her. Instead, Veronica looked pensive.

"Well, I'm definitely driving," Mac announced. "How many glasses of wine did you have?"

"Not that many," Veronica insisted, but she relinquished her keys anyway. "Did you fix their phone?"

"It was the subprocessor." It was _always_ the subprocessor. "What about you and Logan? What did you talk about?"

"Huh"

"On your walk."

"Oh." Veronica was silent for a moment. "We didn't do much talking."

. . .

After Veronica and Mac left, Logan helped Hannah clean up. It didn't take long--Elizabeth, the help, already had most everything squared away--and soon he and Hannah retired to their bedroom. "Well, that went well," Hannah decided as she undressed. "Did you and Veronica work things out?"

"I think so."

"Well, that's good," she said. "She might not realize it, but I owe her a lot. I wanted to be her, practically, back in school. Hell, I had almost as big a crush on her as I did on you."

He nodded as he began to change out of his suit. Hannah always was an understanding soul, knowing what he needed even when he didn't know how to ask for it. He and Veronica had been a blaze of glory, but he and Hannah were the slow-burning fire.

"Did you take her to the playground?" she asked.

Logan looked away. As far as anyone could tell, Lilly had been conceived on that swingset.

"Fine," said Hannah, with what could only be described as a pout. "Don't tell me. Just get in that bed with me and put all thought of Veronica Mars out of my mind."

He smiled, got into bed, and proceeded to make love to the other love of his life.

. . .

Mac woke up to the strains of "Crimson and Clover" which meant Veronica was calling her. Before switching on the phone, she checked the clock. 3:12 a.m. She pushed the button and Veronica's face appeared on the screen.

"What is it, Veronica?" And why couldn't it wait until morning?

"Mac, I've been thinking. I'm going to accept the job."

Mac was glad her best friend had figured out what everyone else who knew her had known from the beginning, but asking her to smile at 3:12 was asking too much even from Veronica. "I know."

"Oh." Veronica paused. "You'll come with me, right? Help me out?"

Mac nodded solemnly. "Wherever you go, I'll follow. You know that."

Veronica smiled. "Yeah, I do. Hey, Mac?"

"Yes?"

"You and Lauren are going to see your mother tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," answered Mac. She tried to see her biological mother whenever she got a chance. After spending her entire childhood not realizing the Mackenzies (who she adored, don't get her wrong) weren't her blood parents, it still felt she was catching up.

"Do you think I could come with?"

Now, _that_ was a surprise. Mac and Lauren had given up on inviting Veronica long ago. "She'd love to have you, but you know Mad and Mark'll be there."

Veronica nodded. "I know."

"Oh." Mac's world was suddenly upside-down. Maybe she was still asleep and this was all a dream. To make sure, she pinched herself. "Then sure. We'll pick you up tomorrow morning."

Veronica smiled again. "Thanks. Well, good night, Mac."

"Sweet dreams, Veronica."

. . .

The week passed and Thursday came, and the hacker-turned-politico now slotted to fill a high-ranking but as yet undetermined position in the Interior Department stood in the airport with her boss, her boss's father, and her biological sister--the same foursome they had made when Mac and Veronica had gotten off the plane. Now they were set to get back on one, and the obligatory round of hugs and kisses were exchanged.

"Ready to go back to Washington, Senator?" Mac asked. Veronica had promised a legislative agenda to the people of California, and she and Mac were going to work to push as much of it as they could through right up to the moment of Veronica's confirmation.

"Yeah," said Veronica, taking her Chief of Staff's hand in hers. "Let's make history."

Mac smiled.

THE END


End file.
